


Seventeen

by tirsynni



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3465179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tirsynni/pseuds/tirsynni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Erik goes to kill Nazi supporter Kurt Marko, his evening doesn't go quite as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seventeen

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the canonical comment that Charles met Erik when Charles was seventeen.

Kurt Marko’s blood poured out like a crimson river, pumping out with every frantic beat of his heart and soaking the lush carpet. Erik Lehnsherr stepped away from the man’s flailing hand and frowned at the mess. It was a fine carpet, a complete contrast to the greedy oaf on the floor. Whoever cleaned up this mess would probably need to trash it.

Ah well. There were more important matters to consider. As Marko finally died with a gurgle behind him, Erik looked around the sumptuous study. Marko denied knowing anything about Schmidt, which was probably true: the man was a war profiteer, with no care if his money came from Nazis or the British government. The man could have a gold mine of information and not realize it if he couldn’t see the profit.

So. Time to hunt.

Erik sighed and walked around Marko’s cooling corpse. The mansion was vast, so with any luck, the man kept his documents hidden in the room. He had seen no other signs of life. It would probably take days before –

“There is nothing in here.”

Erik spun, Marko’s knife hovering in the air. He couldn’t sense any metal, had never heard anyone coming. A colleague of Marko’s?

No. A boy. Seventeen, possibly younger, standing in the doorway and staring at him with wide blue eyes, pupils so dilated the eyes almost looked black. His gaze kept flickering between Marko’s body on the floor and the knife, still shivering in the air.

Marko’s stepson. Charles Xavier. Erik thought he was at Oxford.

“I’m on break,” Xavier said. He stepped forward and quietly closed the study door behind him. “You’re…you’re like me?”

Erik’s mind struggled to put the pieces together, fighting to adapt to the new situation. Seventeen, yes, according to Erik’s notes. He was an innocent witness –

Erik had never said anything aloud about Oxford.

“No,” Xavier agreed. “You didn’t.” His gaze flicked to Marko’s body again, and he inhaled deeply. The faint trembling of his hands and the still wild look in his eyes belied his calm voice. “One of my tricks, just like you have yours.” He nodded to the knife still hovering in the air. _Now can you please put that down so we can talk?_

The knife fell with a muffled thud. Xavier exhaled. Erik stared dumbly at him.

Xavier didn’t seem to notice, staring at Marko again. “I knew…that he did terrible things. I hadn’t realized…” He swallowed. “My apologies. Would you mind if we spoke elsewhere? Maybe have some tea?”

Tea? “I heard you. In my head.” None of this was going as planned.

“Yes, yes…” Xavier backed up. Even with the carpet absorbing most of the mess, the room reeked of rich, coppery blood and sickly death. “Tea? There is no one else here, so we won’t be disturbed.”

He caught Erik’s eye, and it struck him that while Xavier seemed shaken, he wasn’t frightened. Disturbed but not disgusted. He didn’t even seem particularly upset at the sight of his dead stepfather.

In a daze, Erik found himself following Xavier – _Please, call me Charles_ – downstairs to a kitchen the size of his last hotel room. Xavier – _Charles_ – gestured for him to take a seat at the kitchen table while he put a kettle on the stove and hunted for teabags.

“My apologies for the lack of fresh tea,” Xavier said absently, reaching for two mugs. They clanged loudly together, and Xavier flinched. With a sharp exhale, he pulled them out of the cupboard and closed it behind him. “Kurt was never a tea drinker, and I, ah, encouraged him to not bring his associates here. I felt terrible for it, but…” Xavier paused, still holding the mugs in his hands. Erik noted that dancing pineapples covered one of them. Xavier shook his head and placed the mugs on the table, keeping the pineapple one on his side.

Encouraged…with his powers, perhaps? Could Xavier do more than speak mind to mind?

Xavier looked over his shoulder at Erik. With his pale face and messy brown hair, he looked younger than seventeen. “Well, yes, and it’s Charles, please.” He smiled, brittle and shaky. “After all, you just killed my stepfather. I feel that is a good basis for first names.”

The kettle whistled. Xavier looked away to turn off the stove and grab the kettle.

Indeed, Erik had just killed Xavier’s only living parent. Under normal circumstances, that would make Xavier a threat. Erik stayed his hand, though. If Marko’s death had distressed Xavier, the teenager gave no indication. Xavier had the upper hand upstairs, and Erik was beginning to realize that Xavier was far from helpless. Unless Xavier was simply a naïve fool, that would explain why he wasn’t afraid of a murderer in his home.

Most importantly, Xavier was – impossibly -- like him.

Xavier poured steaming water into their mugs and then sat down across from him. “Yes,” Xavier – Charles – said quietly. He smiled again, small but apparently sincere. “You aren’t alone.”

For a moment, drinking tea with a teenager while the boy’s dead stepfather cooled upstairs, Erik believed him.

Charles’s smile grew, a bright red curl of his lips, and he looked down at his tea. Then he cleared his throat and shook his head. “I wish…I wish you hadn’t killed him but…I do understand why. I wish…that you had been able to find a better way.”

Erik thought of the lack of pictures he had seen in the house so far. He picked up his tea and sipped. “You said he didn’t keep anything in that study.”

When Charles’s face darkened like that, he looked older, worn. He sipped his own tea. “Yes. He…he liked to keep all of his important papers in my father’s study.” Charles grimaced. “He thought it was funny.”

Brian Xavier… Marko had never been officially connected to the man’s death, but dark rumors carried far. Similar rumors had been connected to Sharon Marko’s death not long ago. Studying Charles, Erik wondered how far away his planned death was.

Charles smiled grimly. When the silence stretched on, Erik sipped his tea.

“I knew nothing of Kurt’s more recent activities,” Charles said finally. “I left for university as soon as I could and took my sister with me.”

Sister…Raven Darkholme. Erik found no information on her besides her mysterious adoption. Of course, he had no reason to look, either.

“You’ll like her,” Charles assured him. “She’s like us, just with her own set of tricks.”

Before Erik could ask, an image of a blonde girl flashed in his mind. Then the girl shifted, blue scales replacing white skin and red replacing blond. When the image faded, Erik could only stare at Charles’s proud smile.

“I’ll have to tell her what you did to Kurt, of course, but…” Charles’s smile faded, expression smoothing into something casual and practiced.

More like him…how stunning.

Later. He would pursue that line of thought later.

Charles finished his tea and stood. Erik slowly followed, studying the boy who was --- shockingly – only a little younger than him, so seemingly soft with his round cheeks and blue cardigan, capable of…what, exactly? Reading his mind, speaking with his thoughts…

Having tea with his stepfather’s murderer.

Charles gestured with the lazy imperiousness of the privileged. “Come. This way.”

_I can do more – so much more – than simply read thoughts…_

Erik’s mouth curved into a sharp smile as he followed. With a mindreader on his side, perhaps hunting Schmidt would be far easier than he thought.


End file.
